A Shadow And A Dream
by FangedCalliope
Summary: A Slayer sits chained in a palatial dungeon. A vampire, held by different chains, languishes there as well. The two find themselves inexorbaly drawn to each other. Leading to the question: What do you do when you must rely on your enemy to survive?
1. Chains

Discliamer: They aren't mine, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Eenemy, but oh my, aren't they fun to play with.

Summary:This is set in season2 and veers widly off cannon after What's My Line 2. It's more a character exploration than anything else but hopefully the extremely stubborn plot bunny that started this, (it looked like the one from Monty Python and could therefore not be ignored,) will be able to get in there too. This is darker than my usual stuff, but don't worry, I find I can'twrite gratuitous horror very well so it won't be all terror and gloom. There might even be a little romance too. Possibly NC-17 later on, if I don't lose my nerve.

A.N. Eliza Urchin, this ones for you darlin, thanks for your support.

**A Shadow And A Dream**

The ballroom was like something from a dream. Huge chandeliers lit with flickering candles illuminated a high domed ceiling,the dark blue scattered with silver stars reflected dimly in the smooth lake of the white marble floor, unblemished by any reflection of the whirling dancers who glided smoothly across its polished surface. In this deep subterranean palace, somewhere far below the ground, far away from wind and sunshine, every night was just the same. She would watch them, helpless and despairing, as they wove a dance of rustling satin and horrid laughter. Beautiful faces and cruel voices passed before her in a never ending pattern of evil and death. She did not know how long she'd been here, she almost didn't know how she'd arrived.All that remained were the last brutally clear moments of heat and pain.As she did every night the Slayer replayed those last moments in the abandoned church. Kendra falling under the assassin's knife, the wall of fire that leapt up separating her from her Watcher and friends, she had thrown herself furiously at Spike, trying desperately to get through to Angel where he hung helpless, bound to Drusilla's moaning form. Then the blast of light, Drusilla straightening as Angel burst silently into a shower of dust. She had thrown herself at Spike, blinded by rage and grief intent on killing him, she had seen him smiling in awe at something behind her, then everything went black. She had woken up here, chained at the wrists and ankles in a corner to a marble wall. Since then her time had stretched forward in a bleak succession of days and nights that she could only guess at. During the "nights" the ballroom was filled with the vampire court,weaving there neverending dances and intruigues.During the "days" she sat utterly alone in the palatial room of empty white marble, reapting names over and over in her head to keep fromcracking.Angel, Mother, Giles, Willow, Xander, even the memories seemed hazy now, the grief dim. All that was left was emptiness and the stories she told herself to keep from going mad with loneliness. Stories of the world she had come from. "Buffy" was now a character, just like Willow and Xander and Giles, a girl she had once known in world full of sunshine. She looked down at her dirty jeans, the stained T-shirt whose faded blue was hardly recognizable under the grime. Her toesthat stillbore the remnants of chipped pink polish. "Summer Peach", a color Willow had given her on her last birthday. An innocent color, reminiscent of sunshine and friend's laughter, she never gazed at it for long. Her hair was lank and stringy, falling around her face and over her shoulders in an unattractive tangle of mousy brown and blonde.

She new how horrible she looked, her image was reflected in the slashes of mirrors lining the walls. Mirrors that showed only her, a single figure in a vast hall full of echoes and voices. Every night it grew harder to remember that this was not the world. That they, with their terrible beauty and satin and lace were the alien ones, and that she, the beggar in the corner wasn't a drudge, some strange freak left over from a long forgotten world. She would already be beaten, mad, lost to despair, if it weren't for him.

The vampire in his long black coat.

Always a little apart, always different, watching his adored Princess as she whirled among the courtly dancers. The black jeans and t-shirt he refused to eschew were an aching nightly reminder of someone like her, of a world where she wasn't completely alone. Every night her eyes searched the room until they lighted on his sharp face. At first she had pinned her eyes to him in hatred. He had killed her beloved, he was the reason she was here, who knew what horror he had perpetrated onthe others she had loved. Her hazel eyes burned into his form like a target, reminding herself that he was the first who would die. But after the days, weeks months, had gone by, after she had given up screaming questions and threatsat her jailers, after her whole self had shrunk from simply being ignored and she was beginning to doubt she existed at all, she watched him for a different reason.

He didn't get along with others around him, like her. He was ignored, like her. He seemed out of place, from a different world, just like her. And his voice, when he spoke, was rough and common, echoing stridently across the silken chatter in way that made her feel more awake, more alive, less like a ghost chained in the corner to the steps of a marble throne.

Every morning and night food was left for her, brought by a hollowed eyed drone who stared at the wall, placing it with a clang at her feet. It was always the same. A breast of chicken cooked till the meat dripped from the bone, bread and butter, and some sort of vegetable mixture, all cooked to perfection. After the third week it had all begun to taste like ash in her mouth, but she forced it down, first out of practicality, then out of spite, then out of mindless routine. She was never spoken to, if anyone's eyes happened to light on her they would stare blankly then flick away, as if they had lighted on an interesting decoration or piece of scenery. But sometimes his blue eyes would flicker over her, only for a second before darting away, but ocassionally, for a brief second, she would feel like she had been seen.

Tonight like all the other nights her eyes searched the glittering throng.Straining for the flash of black leather and white hair. There it was! The vampire strutted in hands nonchalantly tucked in his belt, a bored expression on his face as he surveyed the dancers. Beside him glided Drusilla, clad in dress of crimson silk, her hair falling in perfect curls over her white shoulders, the vampiress was in her element. The Slayer watched the flicker of hurt pass through Spike's eyes as the brunette was quickly whirled away by one of the dancers. He let her go every night, always approaching her just before the grand exodus from the ballroom, claiming the last dance for himself as he ran his hands possessively over her body. In the beginning it had caused the pair to leave early nearly very evening, though now that the Slayers fogged brain thought of it, that hadn't happened in a long while. She watched as he strode his way confidently through the dancers, letting them get out of his way, till he reached his usually spot where he lounged against the steps of the empty dias, not far from where she sat, his hard eyes watching his love's partners with a steely gaze. The Slayer frowned, eyes drifting from their usual fascinated perusal of the vampire's face. Something was different tonight. Tonight, the other dancers watched her vampire too, mouths quirking cruelly as his passage was marked with speculative whispers and raised eyebrows. The Slayer felt a tingle climb up her spine. Something was going to happen.

_Good. _A part of her whispered triumphantly, _It's time for him to pay. _But the other part was worried, worried for the monster in the black coat, and worried that she was worried for her beloved's killer. She was not fooled by his seemingly nonchalant pose, she had been watching him every night, and was more in tuned to his body language and emotions than he was. A flicker of his eyes or a tensing of his jaw could tell her volumes, and she could see now, that he was tense, ready, waiting. So she tensed to, eyes flicking from his carven profile to the whirl of color in the room, and waited.

It happened when the orchestra struck up its last tune. Spike approached Drusilla as usual, arms sliding sensuously around her waist as he whispered, "Time for my dance pet."

Suddenly a large hulking vampire in rich doublet of purple velvet grasped Drusilla's thin wrist.

"I believe this dance is mine." He purred, yanking Drusilla from her lover's grasp.

Spike's snarl of rage echoed across the room cutting the music to a halt as, in perfect synchronicity, the throng pulled back, creating a circle around the two males. Drusilla stepped gracefully up onto the first step of the dias, basking in the room's attention as her gaze, like their's riveted on the hostile males. Spike gave another furious snarl, "You keep your filthy hands off of her you ponce."

The large male arched an elegant eyebrow. "And why should I do as you say, Spike?" The name was said with light contempt, the demon's tone almost polite in his question.

"Because," Spike snarled, advancing on the larger vampire, "she belongs to me."

"I see no Claim." The voice held a deadly intent and the Slayer shivered as she saw Spikes eyes widen in rage.

"A challenge Vincent?" An exquisitely dressed and aged vampire stepped forward from the circle, directing his question at the vampire in the purple doublet.

The dark haired Vincent's face rippled into it's demon's mask, his feral eyes never leaving the white haired vampire's enraged ones. "A challenge." He confirmed.

The circle of spectators gasped as with a furious roar Spike charged the other vampire, his face shifting into it's demon's guise as he ran. The two males met with a bone jarring crash that made the slayer wince, locking arms as they strained. Finally Spike broke free, executing a smart kick to Vincent's chin. Only to be rocked sightly by the bigger vampire's heavy blow to his jaw. The circle was utterly silent as the two fought, the only sound in the room being the grunts and snarls of rage and smack of fists and feet hitting flesh. Buffy watched them tensely, her eyes devouring the blonde vampire as he fought. He moved with electricity and bursts of speed, rage and passion in fluid motion with his fists. Something in her stirred as she seemed to remember that she had once fought like that. Fists and fury and exaltation. The blood on Spike's face only seemed to delight him, whereas it had enraged his opponent. Finally Spike was able to deliver a crushing blow that sent the richly dressed fighter reeling back into the musicians box where he fell with a crash.

"Wanker." Spike spat, contemptuously turning his back, he approached the dias where Drusilla stood, stalking like a panther, his eyes only for his dark beauty. He did not notice that behind him, Vincent had staggered to his feet. The bruised vamp snatched up the broken stem of a violin, silently padding towards the blonde vampire with murder in his eyes. From her place in the corner the Slayer glanced around frantically as the throng remained absolutely silent. Looking in panic to Drusilla the small blonde saw that the dark vampiress was giving her lover no indication of the danger he was in. Bile rose into the Slayer's throat, bubbling up with the terror of what Spike's death would mean. Cutting harshly against all past feeling of hatred and revenge was the brutal and sudden certainty that if she lost him, she would lose herself. Without his voice and face to look for each night she would go mad, and she did not want to go mad! Her voice sore and rusty from lack of use suddenly tore out of her throat in a hoarse scream. "Behind you!"

Spike didn't take time to register where the shout had come from. He whirled in a split second, grabbing his opponent's arm that held the stake he twisted it up and behind the burlier vampire, breaking his arm even as the odd angle allowed him to drive the stake through Vincent's back into his heart. Spike straightened as his opponent burst in a shower of dust. A grin of manic triumph lighting his features, his chest taking in gulps of unnecessary air. His smile faded as he was greeted with absolute silence, looking around at the cold faces before him he began to feel a thread of unease. He looked for his dark princess's eyes for assurance, but they were blank, almost hostile when they looked back at his, she made no move to stand beside him. With growing horror Spike turned to face the ragged girl in the corner. Her hazel eyes were wide in her thin face, her chest heaving under it's grimy covering of fabric. Most unsettling of all her lips were curved in a slight smile of triumph. Nausea churned in his gut, her. She had saved him. No wonder they all looked him like he was a freak.

Buffy gasped in breath her knees feeling weak as exaltation surged through her system. He had heard her, and it had worked, she had saved him. He would still be there for her to watch. She looked up and was shocked by the sight of two blue eyes searing into hers. He was looking at her, some one was looking at her. She felt dizzy as he approached her, and she could feel the energy of another presence touching her for the first time in what seemed like years. She closed her eyes, assimilating the intoxicating scent of cigarettes and musk that cut so sharply and wonderfully across the sickly sweet perfumed air. Opening them again she found herself pinned once more by furious blue, and then her head snapped back, ears ringing from the force of his blow as the vampire backhanded her brutally across the face, the force sending her to her knees on the hard stone.

"You weren't told to speak bitch." He spat. Turning to the still silent assembly Spike allowed a cocky smirk to spread across his face. "Well to the victor the spoils, the banquet awaits. Dru my love," he held out his hand to his princess who regarded him with calculating eyes. For one instant Spikes heart clenched as he realized she was weighing her assets, had put him in the scales. But he held his pose, and almost gasped in relief when she smiled and took her place at his side. "Yes, let us now feast." Smiling hazily at the room she swept out regally on his arm. The same richly dressed vampire as before stepped forward from the throng.

"A victory." He intoned, his voice deliberately neutral, before following the pair. With a rustle of silk the court filed from the room, their spiteful whispers leaving echoes in the air long after the last demon had departed. Alone in the room the Slayer raised her head. Her cheek throbbed with pain and her neck ached from being whipped so violently backward, but she was smiling as she lifted as she lifted her fingers to her split lip, staring at the red that now stained them. Darting out her tongue she tasted it, warm and salty sweet, and her smile grew. Blood. She could bleed, she could feel pain. Perhaps she wasn't a ghost after all.

Reviews, reviews, they feed the muse.

For those of you still interested in Balance, don't worry. I havn't abandoned it. It's just proving obstinate.


	2. She's Not Here

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, I just like to pretend they Spike is.

Spike looked down at the sleeping face of Drusilla, cold and white and perfect on its pillow of black silk, before shrugging on his duster and stepping silently from their room. He buried his fists into the pockets the lined pockets, shifting as he felt the comfort of its weight steeling onto his shoulders. He never left the room without it, it was his armor, and it pissed the other poofters who pranced through the court off to no end. The blonde haired vampire walked casually through the empty halls of the palace, easily avoiding, the clockwork patrols of the guards as his feet led him on a mindless path through the labyrinth of corridors. It had become his habit to wake during the day, strolling through the palace as he learned its twists and turns. Reconnaissance, knowing his surroundings, that's what he told himself he was doing. In reality it was some much needed time think, and today he definitely needed to think Drusilla had been well pleased with him last night, thrilled with getting to play the queen of the feast, she had torn off his clothes in a frenzy when they arrived back at their room, happily doing all she could to repay him with her tongue and teeth, for the various bruises he had received in her honor. But she still had not allowed him to Claim her.The refusalhad hurt, as it always hurt, but the vampire had once again shrugged it off. The longer she resisted wearing his mark the more challenges there would be for her hand, and the more prestige they would gain. Spike didn't mind the fights, it was the only bit of fun he ever got in this place, but his Sire's actions last night had left him cold. She had had the best view of the room, surely she must have noticed that he was about to be stabbed in the back. Why hadn't she warned him?

All he could tell himself was that she would have, she would have, if the Slayer hadn't yelled out first.

The Slayer.

He had almost forgotten the chit, so caught up as he had been in keeping his Princess safe he had let his awareness slip, it had surprised him to no end last night when he heard her, surprised him even more that he had forgotten she was there. Why had she warned him? It was a question he couldn't begin to fathom. And it angered him, in more ways than one, most of all that she had created the disloyal doubt he now harbored about his princess in his heart. Looking up in surprise the vampire found himself at the entryway to the grand ballroom. Deciding now was as good a time as any to punish the Slayer for her rashness he pushed the heavy door open a crack and slipped inside. The ballroom was different in the daytime, white and huge and empty without the colorful display of the court, the vampire winced as his booted feet echoed hollowly in the empty space.

_I'd go mad if I had to spend all my time here. _He thought, then stiffened as his eyes lit on the small figure curled in the corner. The vampire frowned as he approached the sleeping form of the Slayer. She looked terrible. Thin and wan, her clothes stained and her face grubby, her skin had grown pale enough to match the marble she lay upon, though still not as white as his own dead face. She was a far cry from the golden girl he had seen dancing at the club in Sunnyhell all of those months ago.Her breathing was soft and deep, her heartbeat slightly fast, as if even in sleep, her body felt its danger. Looking at her pathetic form the vampire felt a smile tug at his lips, it was time to have some fun. Slinking up very close to her still form he slid smoothly into his demonic countenance, leaning forward he screwed up his nose as the smell of unwashed human made his stomach churn.

Lightly he allowed one of his fangs to slice across her cheek. "Slaaaaaaaayeeeeeeeer." He singsonged, letting his voice come out in a low growl. The Slayer's eyes snapped open, when she felt the stinging sensation on her cheek, her internal warning system skyrocketing off the charts.

Vampire.

Yesterday she might have simply lain there and let her end come, but last night had shown her she was not a ghost, she still felt the bruise to prove it, and that meant that she could hit. Without thinking her fist shot out, connecting with the first solid thing it could find.

"Bloody hell!" Spike fell back hard on his tail bone, clutching his abused nose as lights exploded behind his eyes. Her stared at the wide eyes girl before him in disbelief, the bitch had almost broken his nose.

"Spike?" Buffy asked tremulously, her voice rusty and hollow in the large room. Feeling the sting that persisted on her cheek she reached up her hand to feel the warm cut, staring in fascination at the blood on her fingers. Spike rose to his feet watching her as he wiped the blood from his nose regarding the pint sized terror that sat chained to wall. He could see the dark bruise at the corner of her mouth, looking darker with the dried trickle of blood that remained on her chin. Now that she was fully conscious he saw that the fire had died out of her eyes, she was staring at the blood on her fingers like she had never seen it before, turning her hand back and forth as she regarded it from all angles. The vampire frowned, eyes narrowing as he slipped unconsciously back into human guise. Something wasn't right here. She should be on her feet, shouting insults, not sitting passively in the corner. Something wasn't right at all. When another minute ticked by and she seemed no more attuned to his presence than before he growled in frustration. He wanted a Slayer he could hit, not this pathetic heap. Maybe if he could piss her off.

"You know I never figured a Slayer to have a blood fetish before." He smirked, absently licking his own blood from his fingers.

Her head snapped up in startlement. "Spike?"

"That's me." He spread his arms wide, as if showing off his solid form. "Thought I forgot about you didn't you."

Her strange eyes gazed emptily at him. "Yes."

Spike's eyes narrowed. What was she playing at? "Well you should kno better Slayer," he advanced upon her with a predatory stride, feeling another flicker of annoyance as she continued to stare dumbly at him. With a growl offrustration he strode the next few feet to her, grabbing her roughly by the arms he yanked her up to her feet, pinning her against the wall. "Why did you save me? Hmm." He shook her roughly. "Dissension in the ranks? Turning the others against me? Is that your plan? Revenge?"

The Slayer almost gasped, tremors shaking her body. She was being touched, touched. When she didn't respond Spike shook her again.

" I hadn't thought that you where the manipulative type Slayer, thought your were more rough and tumble." His eyes dragged provocatively over her grimy form, "Course you're not in much shape for that now are you?"

Heat lanced through the young woman's system, a familiar yet almost forgotten emotion. "Fuck you Spike." The Slayer spat suddenly horribly conscious of the her greasy hair and the way her clothes were stained with sweat.

"How very original Slayer." The vampire mocked, internally rejoicing as the rough curse fell like music on his ears. How long had it been since he'd heard anyone curse. Weeks? Months? However long it was that they had been in this poncy place. There was fire in the Slayers eyes, and he felt an odd tickle of glee to see it directed at him. He was bored, so entirely bored. There was nothing to do here, no challenge anymore. Yeah Dru was happy, but it was like she didn't have time for him, entirely caught up in court games and some star designated schemes of her own. He had never felt comfortable in high society, even when he was alive. Alive, Spike shuddered at the thought of William. As a vampire he had been freed from all that, the tedious games of society, or so he had thought. Now he was once again subjected to being looked down upon, and left in the cold. The vampire frowned again. What was happening to him? With a snort of disgust he released her, stepping back to look down his nose at her thin form. "Who am kidding. It doesn't matter why you did it. Whatever scheme you're cooking up. It won't work. There's no way out of here. And if you were banking on my gratitude, well then you can just forget it. I would've won anyway. Dru would've warned me."

Now there was a reaction, a tiny spark of interest in her eyes as they glanced up into his. "Do you really think so."

With a roar he pinned her to wall again, his body mashing harshly into hers. "I bloody know so bitch. And if you think you can drive a wedge between us then you've got another thing coming." As she only continued to stare at him a strange softness in her hazel eyes the vampire's patience snapped. "What the bloody hell's wrong with you?!" He yelled, his face just inches from her own.

"You're touching me."

He stepped back in surprise, he certainly hadn't been expecting that answer. "Yeah....?"

"I haven't been touched, in, such a long time."

The vampire stepped back in horror as one small hand reached out for his face. He immediately jumped back as if it were a cross, then laughed as her eyes narrowed and she grabbed for him again.

"Oh ho, that's your game is it? Get me close, get those hands around my neck.You want to take me down, you're gonna have to work a little harder. Come on then." He stepped into a fighter's crouch a smile growing as he danced on the balls of his feet. "Come on, give it to me good Buffy." He knew she couldn't reach him, and had hoped her helplessness would send her into further rage, get that spark into her eyes.He was unpleasantly surprised when she froze, her eyes going slightly glassy as she stared at him in wonder.

"What did you call me?"

"What?" The vampire was utterly confused, "Come on, put em up then Slayer."

He almost growled in frustration when she remained in whatever fuge state his words seemed to have put her in.

"Buffy," she said in wonder, "you called me Buffy."

He frowned again dropping his stance, that's what the bint was going on about? "Well, yeah." He said skeptically. "It's your name innit it?"

The Slayer shook her head, looking slightly confused. "Buffy, lived in a sunny place. In the sun. And there was an Angel and he loved her. He loved her. She was loved."

Spike felt like she had slapped im in the face, no that would have felt good, this however, was sickening. "Look here Slayer, have you gone barmy?"

"And there was Willow, and Giles, and Xander. And Mommy." She said the names with utter concentration, as if struggling to get them just right.

"Buffy...." He began, unconsciously taking a tentative step toward her.

She scrambled back with a clink of chains, the smell of fear coming off her almost overpowering.

"She's not here. She's not here. She's safe, you can't touch her. No one can touch her!"

_Fuck. _Spike stared at the trembling Slayer in horror. She was bug shaggering crazy. How long had she they been here? At least six months, almost half a year. An unpleasant feeling settled into his vitals. Had it really been that long? He didn't like the way that time seemed to be flowing away from him here, he no longer felt in control and that wasn't something he liked. And this, the Slayer, for some reason it disturbed him most of all. Something about seeing his enemy so beaten, so helpless, didn't sit well with him. He wanted the fire in her eyes back, he wanted something he could fight, not this wreck. Turning in disgust he strode from the room, his hand was on the door knob when her voice surprised him, high and young in the still air.

"You'll come back?"

He turned to look at her, she was standing against the wall, hands flat against the marble, an inquisitive tilt to her head. The vampire suddenly smiled. He would see if he could bring her back, make her the sassy Slayer helo–enjoyed fighting. Then when she was at her strength again. He'd make his move, crush her. Then he'd be the one to take her out, not those wankers who surrounded him. It would be the perfect revenge, and it would give him something to do. Smiling thinly he stepped form the room. "If you're lucky Slayer. If you're very very lucky."

Wow, this is turning out to be pretty weird isn't it. Anyone still with me?


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